Blackmail
by Twilight Scribe
Summary: Blackmail. It was truly the finest hobby in existence. A wicked combination of simple, powerful, enjoyable, and ever so useful... -Rather creepy. First chapter could be construed as some sort of MattPhoenix.-
1. Engarde

Disclaimer: Phoenix Wright? Not mine. 

AN: Though I disliked, nearly despised Matt Engarde when playing through the final case of Justice For All (on the basis that he's a ruthless, manipulative bastard), I have to admit that he's a fascinating character to write.

* * *

Matt Engarde loved the better things in life. Fast cars, beautiful women, fine wines, and every other luxury were his for the taking. (The first, however, was the only one he let his fans know about.) Yet, despite all the joy to be gleaned from these diversions, there was one activity that kept his life interesting; no, kept it worth living. 

Blackmail.

It was truly the finest hobby in existence; a wicked combination of simple, powerful, enjoyable, and ever so useful. If done properly, blackmail could give easily give you control over anyone, anything, and net you a pretty profit at the same time. What's better, everything you got could be chalked up to your own ingenuity. All you needed was the right toehold, then the guts to rip your victim's will to shreds.

On several occasions Matt had tried to isolate the most enjoyable facet of his hobby. There were the results, the end product. Of course, the goal is always something to look forward to, but isn't the journey, the steps and long process leading to your goal, more important?

After long nights of careful deliberation, aided by the brandy snifter never far from reach, Matt decided that it was indeed the journey, not the destination, that held the most appeal.

Oh, the feeling of being in a position of absolute power was intoxicating, but knowing someone was under your control was nowhere near as delicious as the actual breaking. The first few strikes against the victim's delicate psyche to lessen their resistance, followed by the coup d' grace to shatter it. That is what one should savor the most, that and the precise moment when their resolve crumbles and they give in.

That's when they get the look. That wonderful expression that worms its way onto someone's face when you tell them you have something, someone they love locked away somewhere out of their grasp. It's an indescribable experience to see that expression on your target's face. There are truly no words for it, but Matt never tired of seeing it.

The look is a waypoint, signifying that, from there on out, that poor sap is yours, to command and direct as you please, and they know it. If you tell them to jump, lie, steal, pay, do the Macarena, anything at all, they'll do it. They'll hate you all the while, but they will fold.

The broken look in the target's eyes, that was the true prize.

Matt's mind had been turning to thoughts of blackmail lately, pondering the workings and motivations behind it for hours on end, because he was currently in the midst of his most complex scheme to date. A wonderful plan, involving two victims working together and against each other simultaneously; keeping one vulnerable and obedient, and the other too confident and in the perfect position to fall. If the devious nature of his mechanizations wasn't enough, he had a double breaking to look forward to. Matt could toy with that pathetic lawyer now, and then bring that trusting idiot de Killer to his knees once Wright had done his job.

This latest scheme was shaping up to be his favorite blackmail operation ever. There was just something different about Wright, maybe it was all that moral fiber, but that look... That wonderful blanched grimace and expression of pure disgust that he got every time he heard the phrase "You'll get that acquittal for me, won't you, Mr. Attorney?" was priceless. The way he would look like he was about to vomit, then struggle to control himself, trying to hide how deeply Matt's threats affected him. He wasn't fooling anyone.

Matt couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something uniquely satisfying about how those emotions mixed together and flowed towards the same conclusion. How all that rage, loathing, fear, guilt, and defeat slowly but surely funneled down into the single realization that, no matter how hard he tried, there was absolutely nothing Wright could do to free himself from the vow he had, albeit unknowingly, taken. Every face of every person Matt had ever blackmailed paled in comparison to that one defeated expression that was so indicative of the depths of Wright's suffering.

The mere thought of the lawyer's distraught face was enough to cause Matt to break out in a wide grin. It was enough to make his sure-to-be-brief stay in the detention center cozy and delightful, instead of stressful and confining. He would have to thank the Fey girl once their deal was over, it was all thanks to her that he had been able to ensnare Wright after all. More than once, as he sat in his cell counting down the seconds to freedom, Matt had thought of how refreshing it was each time he saw Wright's eyes dull and his shoulders slump in despair. The inaudible cracking and splintering of Wright's soul being crushed into tiny bits was so very refreshing. It had a lousy spring breeze beat by a long shot.

* * *

AN: So there it is. That was... Extremely fun to write.


	2. Corrida

Disclaimer: Still not mine folks.

AN: Okay, I know I once had a different chapter two about Redd White... but after I posted it, I realized it was completely not up to my usual standard of writing. So I took it down to replace it with this. (Thanks to those of you who reviewed on it though, I adore you all!) That last chapter with Matt was just so fun; I had to write another with him in it. Only, this time I'm focusing on the other blackmailer in the wondrous debacle that was case four of JFA, the one that no one ever really thinks about: Juan Corrida.

(Oh, and a little warning: I use the D-word twice, but I think if you're reading this, then you're probably mature enough to handle it. That is all.)

Enjoy!

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In front of the mirror in his dressing room, alone save for the many members of his bear collection, Juan sat pondering the abrupt and earth-shaking event he knew would soon occur later that very night. What Juan had planned would no doubt polarize Nickel Samurai and Jammin' Ninja fans for decades to come, but it was time, long past time actually, for their little competition to draw to an end. The right end. The inevitable finish that left Engarde defeated, bereft, and knowing every second that it was Juan Corrida who destroyed him.

Plotting Matt's downfall had become a sort of hobby, an enjoyable pastime of concocting plans during breaks in filming or rehearsal, and the product was stunning. This time he had the perfect hostage to bring Engarde into line: his precious career. There was nothing Matt valued more dearly than his public image and role as the damn Nickel Samurai, that much was clear from the lie Engarde forced himself to live every day, the fake personality he paraded to the fans and paparazzi. "Refreshing like a spring breeze"... Ha! Juan had seen Matt's real face before; it was nothing you'd want to show to the world.

Maybe outing Engarde as the cruel beast he really was wouldn't land him in jail, but it would ruin his carefully styled reputation beyond repair. With luck, he'd have Global Studios' fangs at his throat too, vengeful for duping them for so long. Juan was sure that when faced with the unsavory consequences of unemployment, public outrage, and blacklisting, Matt would do whatever it took to keep his darker side a secret. He could hardly wait.

In just one hour the Grand Prix ceremony would start, one hour until Juan would witness all his plans come to fruition. Engarde had already been given an entire day since Juan delivered his ultimatum to weigh his options and make the right choice. Juan just hoped Engarde had practiced his acceptance speech. It would only be fair, considering all the hours Juan spent rehearsing and perfecting how he would play his part, that Matt would make the same effort and make this event, the live televised record of his surrender, worth watching again and again and again. Something Juan intended to do.

After checking the mirror one last time to make sure his hair was perfect, a silly habit seeing as how his mask never failed to mess it up, Juan pulled on the last bits of his costume and began the trek across the hotel to the stage. The time he had left to wait would pass faster in the manic frenzy backstage than if he stayed brooding in his room, and with any luck he'd run into Engarde. It would be fun to taunt him one last time when he could still fight back. If he didn't have his suave, debonair reputation to uphold, Juan might just have started giggling.

-x-

Hours later, the door to Juan's dressing room flew open, jarring a score of teddy bears from their stations as the Jammin' Ninja stormed in and ripped off his mask. Juan's first impulse was to hurl the heavy helmet into the mirror, smash it to pieces, but then he would have all that broken glass to deal with and a bill...

Tossing the helmet on the couch, he did the second-best thing he could think of to get rid of his excess anger. He called up room service and ordered a glass of gourmet tomato juice, an old favorite of his, to be consumed while trying to decide how best to organize his press conference and punish that damn, disobedient Engarde! How dare he not stick to the plan!

In the short time left before the after-ceremony stage show and conference Juan alternated between pacing, seething, and ignoring his tomato juice; all while planning the most efficient way to demonize Matt to the media while keeping his own reputation squeaky clean. By the time he was done, Engarde would be deeply regretting his decision to not give in and just do as he was told like a good lackey. Maybe if he was lucky, Engarde would realize his mistake and try to stop the conference. The image of Matt running up to the podium as he spoke and begging him not to tell, unlikely as that was to happen, made Juan smile. It would ruin the purpose of impersonating Engarde... But he could dream, couldn't he? There was really nothing he enjoyed more than tearing Matt down and beating him into the dirt like he deserved. Juan might miss the sport once he destroyed Engarde, but it would be so very worth it.

With just fifteen minutes left before the press conference, Juan sat in front of the mirror to take care of the final preparations, such as one last rehearsal of his speech. So when a knock on the door and a cultured voice with a strikingly English accent announced the arrival of a bellhop to retrieve "Mr. Corrida's" used dinner plates and cutlery, Juan was a bit preoccupied with his malicious plans.

Without taking his eyes off the mirror Juan muttered a distracted "Yeah, come on in." The bellboy who entered, Juan noted, watching the man's reflection in the mirror, was the one with the monocle and scar he saw serving tables, Engarde's table, the night before. Juan also noticed that the strange bellboy completely ignored the empty plates on the coffee table that he said he came to gather and was stalking towards him. For half a second Juan thought he may be a fan, questing after an autograph, but then the suspicious bellboy spoke and made it very clear just what he was.

"My employer sends his regards, and his regrets for your untimely death, but he's afraid he can't allow you to discredit him. He also wished for me to tell you: 'You really should have seen this coming, Corrida.'"

-x-

Watching him struggle, that was the best part by far. The look of astonishment on Corrida's face as he turned towards de Killer, towards the spy camera planted in his gift, was delicious. Honestly though, was it really such a surprise that he would hire a hitman? What did Juan expect after he opened his mouth like that?

Threatening to expose Matt, to go to the media with info on his true self and Celeste, was without a doubt the stupidest thing that worthless ninja ever did. It was funny though. Just what did Corrida think he was going to gain from his little threat? It couldn't have been a victory. Even someone as thick as Corrida had to know he didn't stand a chance of winning, that was just too far-fetched. When it came down to ninja vs. samurai, the samurai always won. Always.

Still, on the night before the Grand Prix when Matt arrived, driven purely by curiosity, on the Gatewater Hotel's rooftop terrace with Juan's note in hand (_"Meet me on the hotel's roof, eight o'clock tonight."_ What did Juan think they were, schoolgirls? A note... Idiot!) Corrida just stood there, staring out across the city with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. And the speech Juan gave, hilarious! Matt wished he had a tape recorder to get it all, it was just that good, and it would have gone perfectly with his video. It hardly mattered though; Matt could remember the whole spiel word-for-word.

_"Ah, so you came. Looks like you actually can do as you're told. Good to know, this means our new arrangement will go that much smoother. You see, our rivalry is over. From here on out, you're mine. I own you, Engarde."_

Own him? Own the Matt Engarde? No, he didn't think so, but at the time he held his tongue.

_"Tomorrow, when they announce the winner of the Grand Prix, I'm going to win. Do you know why? No? -Really? I thought you were smarter than that...- It's because this is the first thing you're going to do for me. _

_"I've arranged for you to be chosen as the Hero of Heroes, Engarde, but when you're awarded the title and prize, you're going to respectfully decline and insist that I receive the honors instead. Then you're going to tell the whole world how much you've always admired and been jealous of me, how that led to our horrible feud, which has now been resolved, and then clap politely as I take what I deserve. It may not be an officially accepted way to win the Grand Prix- Or it may be, I have no idea- but either way, it'll be a victory for me."_

Tsk, bribing stage hands now are you, Corrida? Not only was that totally unimaginative, it was unnecessary. He and Juan both knew that Matt was ahead in the popularity polls by a good forty percent.

_"I can see it now, the mighty Nickel Samurai groveling and fawning over the Jammin' Ninja in front of the whole world. Yeah, I know you probably don't appreciate that as much as I do, but it makes me happy. And making me happy is your primary concern now, isn't it Matt? You are a samurai after all; your only purpose is to serve your lord."_

Now that, that was taking it too far.

Matt Engarde did not grovel; groveling was for people who didn't know how to play the game. And "lord?" What was a lord? Matt Engarde never worked for anyone; he worked with them, then knifed them in the back on his way out the door when something better came along. Of all the times that asinine, impudent ninja overstepped his bounds, that smug little comment, the hint that Corrida though for a second that he could ever be Matt's superior, ranked right up there with the worst of them.

The only reason Corrida was still standing and not facedown on the floor with a foot in his gut was because it amused Matt to watch Juan delude himself.

_"From this day on you'll be respectful and obedient to a fault, and if you, for some crazy reason, decide not to be, to rebel... Well, I may 'accidentally' let slip everything I know about what happened to my poor Celeste, and the truth about you Matt, the real you. Now, if that unfortunate slip of the tongue were to happen, it would probably be during a highly-publicized press conference on live, global TV. Understand, Engarde? Sure you do, good boy."_

How incredibly, unspeakably stupid. It was kind of pathetic really, that that excuse of a man could ever have claimed to be Matt's rival. Everything he did was useless, flawed; thought Matt had to admit, for a novice to the game of blackmail, Juan's threat was fairly well-done. Artfully presented, targeted at a suitable weakness (not that Matt had any weaknesses), and dripping with malice and cruelty... But the ultimatum was far from perfect, it was lacking the key ingredient of any threat. Truly magnificent blackmail takes more than cunning and sadism; it requires that certain something, that ironic bite that only true masters of coercion can identify and impart. You couldn't expect something like that from a rank amateur like Corrida. It was out of his league, just like everything else.

The other thing that kept Matt laughing was how Juan called him up the roof to give his demands. The roof? The one place in the entire hotel where there were no witnesses should Matt react in some unexpected and violent way? No forethought there at all. If he wanted privacy for their meeting, Juan could have just called Matt to an out-of-the-way table in the main dining room and slipped a twenty to the maitre d'. On the roof it would be so easy for him to conveniently and "accidentally" fall to his death... Not only that, he stood close to the edge, leaning on the railing with his back to Matt the entire time! Did Juan forget the more physical altercations they'd had in the past? How Matt, on many occasions, had been able to almost effortlessly pick him up and throw him? It was like Juan wanted to die, he was just begging for it!

Pathetic, simpering, delusional, samurai-wannabe ninja. That was Corrida in a nutshell. How the oaf even managed to survive as long as he did was a mystery. After all those years they spent going after and one-upping each other, all those years of hate, Juan should have known him better than to think a single threat to his career would make Matt crumble. Nothing could make Matt Engarde crumble, ever. Nothing could make Matt do what Corrida wanted him to. The ninja probably thought that after he finished his speech Matt would get down on his knees and beg for mercy... Ha! No way, it just doesn't work like that.

No, as Corrida found out, what you get when you threaten Matt Engarde, it's not a sniveling patsy. What you get is an assassin in your room, a violent death, and an exquisite film that Matt Engarde will enjoy secretly watching again and again and again on his video wrist-phone as he waits for his certain acquittal. In the end, the samurai always beats the ninja.

* * *

AN: Once again, that was really fun. I always thought that Juan Corrida, being Matt's rival and able to keep up with him, had to be a cruel and twisted son of a gun; made even worse and embittered after Celeste's death. Too bad he died. It would have been amazing to actually see some of the allegedly epic clashes between Matt and Juan; though I suppose it's better that we fans are left to our own devices in coming up with what they were like...

Now, some notes about writing dramatic fiction: 1) Listening to Jim Carrey sing Cuban Pete really makes it hard to write anything even remotely sadistic, 2) So does having a purring cat curled up on your lap, though it's not as bad as Cuban Pete.

Finally, and most importantly: Thanks to Jade Celeste, a.k.a. Jade, for saving me from three humiliating typos (You rock!); and thanks to Zarla for generally being a genius when it comes to Phoenix Wright. I've been watching her _"Mambolawyer_" video almost non-stop over the last few days, it's that good. I'm addicted.


End file.
